


Break Against Me

by Areiton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Protective Derek, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 12:27:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Stiles’ breath catches, and Derek steps closer, and all of that violence is simmering, a storm about to break.





	Break Against Me

**Author's Note:**

> So the other night, I couldn't sleep and instead amused myself with con panels.   
> Tyler mentioned that there was one scene he wished they'd gotten to film, between Derek and Stiles, and I kinda 'awww'd' because it was sweet. And then I couldn't get it out of my head. So. Enjoy.   
> And blame Tyler. <3

 

He knows that there was a time when he looked at Stiles and saw something weak. When he saw prey and breakable, something so utterly  _ human _ it was only worth disgust and dismissal. 

He knows that it started like that. 

He isn’t sure when it changed. When he stopped seeing the humanity as weakness, when he stopped seeing the rapid fire mouth and mind as anything but brilliant. When he stopped seeing something to be hunted and saw someone worthy to hunt at his side. 

He knows it’s true, has accepted it, much the way he accepted that Scott is the alpha he could never be, the alpha his sister and mother were. 

An alpha he is proud to follow. 

But this--the Stiles he is staring at now, is different. 

Every shard of humanity has been carved away, until all that remains is a cold force of nature, a fury with the determination of a tsunami and all the mercy of one. 

For the first time, he feels a shiver of fear, and it’s not for Stiles. 

“She took my  _ dad,” _ Stiles says, and it’s strange, because his voice is still the wild boy, the young boy that Derek knows. 

But the fury in it isn’t. 

“I know,” Derek says, and Stiles whips around, those strange familiar eyes narrowing on him, assessing. 

“Did you know she would?” Stiles asks, soft and dangerous, and Derek shakes his head. Because he didn’t. 

He could never make the logical jumps Stiles did, the one that put guardian into some kind of sense, that let Stiles put it all together. 

Stiles glares at him, wordless fury, and Derek can see him shaking. “She took Scott’s mom. Argent, too. You’re little girlfriend picked us all off.” 

The words are bitter and furious, and Derek steps closer. He approaches cautiously, with the kind of wary caution that would make sense around another predator. 

The thing about Stiles is--he’s loyal. Fiercely loyal. Throw himself into danger, taunt a werewolf, risk his life loyal. He’d happily put himself in the line of fire if it meant he could keep Scott or Lydia safe, keep Allison from crying. 

Somewhere along the way, that loyalty extended to Derek, for reasons he still doesn’t understand, doesn’t question too closely because he  _ can’t _ question it too closely. 

But none of that touches how he feels about the Sheriff. 

No one threatening Scott has ever produced this reaction, this feral sort of fury and fierceness. It’s never pushed Stiles so far that Derek is actually wary of him, afraid of what his rage will drive him to. 

“I can’t lose him,” Stiles says. “I won’t lose him.” 

It's not a denial, it's a statement, a baseline truth, and Derek nods once. 

“You won't.”

Stiles’ breath catches, and Derek steps closer, and all of that violence is simmering, a storm about to break. 

“You won't,” Derek repeats. “I won't let you.” 

Stiles flinches, jerks back, head shaking. “Don't promise that. You can't promise that.”

Derek shifts a half step closer, invading Stiles space. “You won't lose him.” 

He sees it happen. The tightening fists. The hard line of Stiles’ mouth. The tension in his shoulders. The minute draw back and then--

He's been tightly drawn violence and rage. Since he stalked into the loft, leading with fury and barely there terror, and the unshakable determination to get his father back, he'd been twisting tighter and now. Now. He breaks. 

The first hit is sloppy, uncoordinated, barely grazing his face, and Derek shakes it off, meets Stiles’ furious gaze. 

The next blow. It's hard. Calculated. Snaps Derek’s face to the side and rings pain through his skull. He sucks in a breath and the next blow comes. Fast, now, fast and hard and jesus  _ fuck,  _ he's been running with wolves too long, been fighting supernatural too long, because he's gotten  _ strong _ , and it  _ hurts _ , being hit over and over, but it's ok. He can take this. 

He can't protect Stiles because Stiles would never tolerate it, but he can be  _ this.  _ He can take all the rage and fury, take the blunt edge of it, be the punching bag that he needs, so that when he is spent, when he has broken, a storm against the immovable rock, and when Stiles has burned out all of his rage, he will still be there, still standing. 

When Stiles screams, it's all broken and pain, helpless rage that cuts at him in the way none of the battering blows managed. He screams again, fists slamming into Derek’s shoulders and Derek’s arms come up, steadying as Stiles stumbles. 

Stiles hits his knees, shattered anger clinging to him like a torn cape, and he tips forward, tense and shuddering, his forehead resting against Derek’s shoulder and Derek draws him in, tucks him into the curve of his neck, holds the younger boy as close as he will permit. 

“You won't lose him,” Derek murmurs again and the tension in him--the bad tension, the tension that will only hurt Stiles, that won't help anyone--runs out of him. 

They stay like that, for long enough that the cuts on his face from Stiles fists have closed over when Stiles pulls away. 

He can feel Stiles gaze, slipping over the blood on his face, all that remains of Stiles’ raging fury. He doesn't apologize. Derek doesn't expect him to. 

When Stiles pushes to his feet, he leaves bloody evidence of his rage on Derek’s shirt, low on his hips where he clung to him. When Stiles pushes to his feet, he is cold and remote and icy fury and Derek has a single passing moment of pity for the idiot foolish enough to touch Stiles’ father. 

Then he rises and follows Stiles out, the claws and teeth at a human boy’s back. 


End file.
